The Rubber Band

"Shut up, Francis." Clivers was impatient. "How the devil is it all the same? Let's get this settled. I've already missed one engagement and shall soon be late for another. Look here, seven thousand."

Hilda Lindquist said, "I'll take what I can get. It doesn't belong to me, it's my father's." Her square face wasn't exactly cheerful, but I wouldn't say she looked wretched. She leveled her eyes at Clivers. "If you had been halfway careful when you paid that money twenty-nine years ago, father would have got his share then, when mother was still alive and my brother hadn't died."

Clivers didn't bother with her. He looked at Wolfe. "Let's get on. Eight thousand."

"Come, come, sir." Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. "Make it dollars. Fifty thousand. The exchange favors you. There is a strong probability that you'll get it back when Perry's estate is settled; besides, it might be argued that you should pay my fee instead of Miss Fox. There is no telling how this might have turned out for you but for my intervention."

"Bah." Clivers snorted. "Even up there. I saved your life. I shot him."

"Oh, no. Read the newspapers. Mr. Goodwin shot him."

Clivers looked at me, and suddenly exploded with his three short blasts, haw-haw-haw. "So you did, eh? Goodwin's your name? Damned fine shooting!" He turned to Wolfe. "All right. Draw up a paper and send to my hotel, and you'll get a check." He got up from his chair, glancing down at the mess he had made of the front of his coat. "I'll have to go there now and change. A fine piece of cloth ruined. I'm sorry not to see more of your orchids. You, Francis! Come on."

Horrocks was murmuring something in a molasses tone to Clara Fox and she was taking it in and nodding at him. He finished, and got up. "Right-o." He moved across and stuck out his paw at Wolfe. "You know, I want to say, it was devilish clever, the way you watered Miss Fox yesterday morning and they never suspected. It was the face you put on that stumped them, what?"

"No doubt." Wolfe got his hand back again. "Since you gentlemen are sailing Saturday, I suppose we shan't see you again. Bon voyage."

"Thanks," Clivers grunted. "At least for myself. My nephew isn't sailing. He has spent a fortune on cables and got himself transferred to the Washington embassy. He's going to carve out a career. He had better, because I'm damned if he'll get my tithe for another two decades. Come on, Francis."